


Contrapposto

by Fancifullauren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blasphemy, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, idolatry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancifullauren/pseuds/Fancifullauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire needs to paint Enjolras for a project he's working on, and Enj takes this to mean a naked portrait. 'Taire is surprised, to say the very least - but hey, Enjolras was never one to reject a bit of praise every now and again.  </p><p>Cue smut and Enj-worship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrapposto

**Author's Note:**

> This took a helluva long time! Thanks to all my perfect editors: Tumblr users notprettynorwitty (AO3 coldsteelrail), crowleyplease (Marie) , babyjugs ( Patricia), au-lendemain (Liza) , cruelquestions (Brittany), and live-in-tricolor (Grace). I couldn't have done it without y'all!

The end of senior year of university meant a myriad of things for Les Amis – an end of one chapter, and the start of a new one. A new leaf. A new opportunity to grow as friends and expand their talk of revolution to action. 

For Grantaire, it meant having to turn in a senior art project. Professor Delarosa had advised the class of eight seniors to start their projects at the beginning of the year, and then watch as they grew and took shape throughout the coming months. Of course, Grantaire took this to mean _do it when you can,_ which in turn meant, _do it at the very last minute_.

And so it was that Grantaire found himself two weeks before the due date and panicking over how he could ever finish the project on such a cramped deadline. 

He had an idea in his head for months – eight easels, all arranged in a circle, with a portrait of each Ami; he excluded himself, as he unfortunately did not consider himself one of them. Despite all of their acceptance, with the exception of Enjolras’, Grantaire found himself estranged from the group by his own psyche. The drinking, the cynicism, and the insults all contributed to this feeling, but these were all self-inflicted. The only outside force acting against him was, coincidentally, the only reason he bothered to show up to the meetings at all and also was going to be the biggest painting of all of them: a massive canvas filled with beautiful creams and golds.

He was also the last person he had to paint.

Asking to paint Enjolras was the single most terrifying idea that had ever occurred to Grantaire. First off, Enjolras was extremely busy. When he wasn’t delivering an inspiring speech or debating, he had paperwork in hand. Grantaire even thought he heard the slight tap of his fingers as he texted in the bathroom once.

Don’t ask why he was listening, okay?

Secondly, Grantaire wasn’t exactly Enjolras’ favorite Ami. He drank, he swore, he openly mocked his cause – the only thing Enjolras would ever believe in. And finally, Enjolras wasn’t at all enthusiastic about Grantaire’s painting. Sure, he had never even seen Grantaire’s work, but he stood by the fact that art was a useless profession, calling it “impractical” and even yelling at Grantaire when he complained that he couldn’t find a job; this was completely unlike Enjolras, being such an advocate for the unemployed. He knew, though, that this painting – the centerpiece in the project – needed to be completed. 

It was this that drove him to walk up to Enjolras when nobody else was around. “Hey, umm, Enjolras…can I talk to you for a second?,” he stammered. 

Enjolras turned and looked him in the eyes. “I’m afraid I’m quite busy, Grantaire; there’s an important rally on campus next week and I have to tailor my current speech to that audience. I haven’t the time to listen to your cynical criticism.”

“I’m not! I- well, you see, I have this big project due, and I was wondering if you could-“ he started, but he was abruptly cut off by Enjolras.

“I’m glad that you’re taking an interest in your schoolwork, Grantaire,” Enjolras said offhandedly, “but I really don’t have the time to tutor you. Have you asked Combeferre?” he suggested. Surprisingly enough, there was no anger in his voice. 

“No, that’s not it, actually. I was wondering if I could maybe paint you. I wanted to be able to capture your glorious essence in an artistic format” He said, his voice lacking its usual sarcastic sneer.

Enjolras stopped and thought for a few moments. The awkwardness of the silence began to grow inside of Grantaire. He fought back a blush rising to his face. 

“You could read off your speech while I do it. Hold a book or something?”

He pondered the idea, unwilling to let Grantaire fail his project but also wary of the idea. “Will anyone be seeing this project of yours?”

“Just the professors, and the Amis, if they want. I’ve already painted the rest of them. You’re the last one I need.” 

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Alright, then, I suppose I could do that. Unfortunately I have back-to-back classes and meetings until late that evening. Can I come over at nine?” 

“Thank you!” Grantaire exclaimed, grinning while trying to keep from embracing Enjolras on the spot. “Yeah, yes, nine o’ clock works fine. I’ll have some spaghetti or whatever for you, you’ll probably be hungry. Yeah. Awesome. See you tomorrow at nine then?”

Half of a smile threatened the corner of Enjolras’ lips. “See you at nine.” 

\----  
Grantaire spent the entire day, starting with when he woke up at three in the afternoon, preparing for Enjolras. He cleaned up all the clutter, dusted all the surfaces, swept all the floors, and even went so far as to buy some fresh flowers for the table. By eight thirty, he had everything set up for the perfect dinner, right down to the identical glasses of his nicest zinfandel and a pair of candles he got for Christmas but never had the opportunity to use. The lights were low and smooth jazz played in the background. 

He snapped a picture on his phone and sent it to Jehan with the caption: _Too much?_

[FROM:Jehan 8:31:22]: That is so beautiful! <3  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:31:48]: GET SOME  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:31:56]: u r so in there  
[FROM:Jehan 8:32:27]: Is Courfeyrac texting you? If so, ignore him. 

[TO:Jehan 8:32:40]: Why do I even hang out with you guys?

[FROM:Jehan 8:33:01]: Because you love us  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:33:03]: cuz ur trying to get in my pants  
[FROM:Jehan 8:33:09]: Is Courfeyrac harassing you? I’m going to confiscate his phone.  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:33:15]: Tell prouvaire im not harassing u  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:33:17]: adjfiewarfjskjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:33:23]: jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj  
[FROM:Courfeyrac 8:33:28]: jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

He chuckled as he turned off his phone, not wanting to receive another 100 text messages of Jehan trying to wrestle the cell out of Courfeyrac’s hands. He set it on the counter and took to pacing for the next half hour until Enjolras arrived. 

Grantaire rushed to the door and opened it for him. Standing there was Enjolras, looking vaguely disheveled. “Come in!” Grantaire burst out, ushering Enjolras through the doorway and taking his bag from him. He then proceeded to help him out of his coat and hang it on the coatrack.

Enjolras smiled when he sat down at the table. “Thanks. This is… nice.” 

Grantaire beamed at the minuscule bit of praise. “I thought you might be starving after a slammed day. What were you up to?” He asked, sliding into the chair across from him. 

“Lots of lectures and speeches. Nothing you’d be interested in. So, about this project – what kind of painting did you have in mind?” He asked, visibly uncomfortable as he tried to find a way to eat pasta that didn’t involve him getting sauce all over his face. 

As Enjolras found out, there is no way to eat spaghetti without getting sauce all over one’s face. 

Several times during dinner, Grantaire reached over to wipe the sauce off his lips, but Enjolras always knocked him away before his sleeve lit on fire from hanging too low over a candle. When they were finished, Grantaire turned the lights on and Enjolras blew out the candles so the house wouldn’t burn down while their backs were turned. “Could you stand over there? Right in front of the counter, where the light hits you.” Enjolras positioned himself in front of the easel. “Yes, perfect. Now just find a comfortable pose, I’m going to go get my paint.” 

When Grantaire returned into the room, he jumped and almost dropped all the paint he was precariously carrying. There, right smack in his own kitchen, stood a very real and _very_ naked Enjolras. 

Each step was forced as he approached the easel and never took his eyes off of the marble statue in front of him. Golden curls, usually tied back, now framed his face perfectly, emphasizing his high cheekbones and slight pout, then cascaded down to his narrow shoulders. He held his chest high, collar bones showing from under pale skin. From there, his streamlined body, lightly dusted with yellow hair, continued to taper in ever so slightly until reaching his hips. From his position, one of them was higher than the other as he put most of his weight on his right leg. His arms hung limp at his sides. A perfect contrapposto. 

Despite the clear perfection standing in front of him, something still felt off to Grantaire. He scowled, searching his leader’s blank expression for any inherent flaw or something out of the ordinary. It took a full minute of careful examination before he realized that he was missing the very essence of what made him grand: the fire behind his eyes. 

“You’re looking rather tired this evening. Overworked as usual, I assume?” He mused, squeezing assorted paints onto his palette. 

“I work as much as my country requires me to. If it is too much, so be it,” snapped Enjolras in response. Still no expression.

“Hmm,” Grantaire hummed thoughtfully, “you know, it would do wonders for those circles under your eyes if you would actually get some sleep.” Undoubtedly, Grantaire was lying, but it elicited exactly the reaction he wanted: a slight furrowing of his lofty brow. He took that as a cue to continue. “Perhaps you would even be able to get more work done if you could do so on a head cleared from sleep.”

“What would you know about having a clear head?”

He was going exactly the path that Grantaire wanted him to, so he continued: “If you’re referring to my copious consumption of alcohol, which, I’ll admit, might be an excess” – Enjolras scoffed – “I’ll have you know that it actually helps me think. Do you think that I could really produce such compelling arguments as to how insane your incessant ramblings of revolution are?” 

“They aren’t ramblings, you drunkard; they’re well thought-out speeches that accurately convey the plight of the common man!” He exclaimed, his face beginning to animate. 

“Yes,” Grantaire breathed absentmindedly, his brush flying across his canvas in streaks of tan and white.

His discourse continued with beautiful, feverish passion. “They’re the start of a revolution -- a new dawn for everyone who believes in the combined power of the people. Can’t you see that, or are you too idiotic to even care?” 

That was it. That was what was missing from his face. Whichever muse was in charge of him in that moment channeled through his brush and onto the canvas to form miraculous strokes, fantastic curves, extraordinary arcs, sharp angles, bending and forming a near perfect representation of the fearless leader. 

Meanwhile, Enjolras continued, “There will be revolution, you’ll see. It will be glorious, and we shall rise up from it to form a new country, a new France, dedicated to the population, not to the select few of the governing body! Equality will prevail. Patria will have her reward for staying true to us this whole time. All men shall have their reward!” As he spoke, his muscles twitched as they begged to be moved in his usual grand gesticulations that helped him win over the masses. Instead, he had to rely on his eyes and voice alone to convey the powerful message he was desperately trying to deliver. The blood roared through his veins like wildfire. Straining against his self-imposed stillness, he inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest. 

Grantaire’s hands continued to work feverishly on the picture. Enjolras couldn’t help but notice how intent the artist looked, painting furiously, but with a concentrated air of ease; it was as if Grantaire wasn’t controlling his motions, but was being acted upon by an outside force. The way his biceps clenched, just a bit, whenever he had a new surge of inspiration sent waves of amazement through the blond statue. His tousled hair shook when he looked down at his palette and back up to his work, demanding the majority of his focus. Every so often, his steely blue eyes would flick up from under these black curls, studying him with an intensity that made him shiver. Enjolras had to fight to bite back a smile. He had a point to make, dammit, and hell if he wasn’t going to make it. 

But shit, shit, _shit,_ he could feel an increasing weight hanging off his pelvis, the effect of his impassioned words and the artist in front of him. He bit down hard )on)his bottom lip. _Think about Nicolas Sarkozy,_ he told himself frantically, _think about Mamie in a swimsuit. Think about – oh, God, he looks good when he’s actually dedicating himself to something…_

His chain of thought was broken when Grantaire spoke. “Stop biting your lip.” 

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

“Don’t talk.”

Enjolras planned on grunting in response, but it came out more like a high-pitched whimper, with a minor quiver in his lower jaw. 

“I thought you liked it when I talked,” Enjolras ventured.

Grantaire stopped his painting for a moment to look up at him. “I do, it’s just that I’m trying to get the shape of your cupid’s bow perfect and I-“ He stopped mid-sentence and his eyes grew wide. “I, umm- I… It’s difficult when you- you’re……. holy **shit** Enjolrasyouhaveahugefuckingbonerrightnow.” 

A deep shade of red took over Enjolras’ face and ears. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it- it’s fine, it’s just a bit-“ he stammered, ( _God_ , he’s cute when he does that) “distracting.”

“Distracting.” Enjolras echoed thoughtfully. 

“It’s fine, really, it’s all fine, it’s just that it’s kind of difficult to paint you when… umm… how do I put this delicately?” He was clearly fighting for words. “I can’t concentrate.”

“You can’t concentrate?”

Grantaire was unabashedly staring at Enjolras’ crotch at this point, not even bothering to take his eyes off of it to put his paintbrush and palette down on the counter. “No.” 

“And why can’t you concentrate?”

“I…” He started, but instead ran an agitated hand through his unruly mop of hair. He stepped to the side, revealing his erection, straining against the inside of his jeans. 

“Good God,” Enjolras huffed. 

“Yeah…” Grantaire murmured, “You were just standing there, totally naked, and I couldn’t help myself… I let my mind wander for a moment, just thinking about how faultless your features looked, how vivacious your face could become when you got to talking about something in which you care so deeply, and… well… this happened, I guess.” 

It wasn’t until Grantaire gasped that Enjolras realized his hand had wandered down to lightly brush against his own cock. 

Grantaire, not even bothering to unbutton, rid of himself of both his jeans and underwear in one motion. He mirrored Enjolras’ touch, ghosting his fingers lightly over himself. 

R took two steps forward. Now standing two feet apart, they were close enough that if either one wanted, they could easily reach out and caress the other. Both of them were too shocked to do so. 

Enjolras was the first to break the silence. “Why?” 

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Grantaire asked, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes upon. Your hair, Enjolras! It looks like thread unwoven from Apollo’s robes. And it just barely brushes your shoulders. God, what magnificent shoulders! How long I’ve been dreaming about marring that stunning expanse of skin with my teeth.”

During the speech, Enjolras had begun stroking himself ever so slightly. His other hand came up to brush up against his neck, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

Grantaire stood his ground, but couldn’t stop his hand from moving up and down his length. He spoke again, more cautiously. “There have been times when all I’ve wanted to do is grab that perfect mane of yours and pull your face up to mine and kiss you until you can’t breathe anymore. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Enjolras moaned. It was barely over a whisper. He moved his hand from his neck to his chest, mapping out every detail of the well-defined muscles. His toes curled. He rubbed his cock faster, making it leak precum. 

“Damn it’s so hot when you use that mouth of yours, though. Your voice is like an angel’s song, singing out unto the people of Earth messages of hope and joy! Then in an instant, you’re a demon of desire, hissing angry words that could shroud an entire population in a mantle of lust, willing to die at your slightest command. It’s the most remarkable thing I’ve heard in my life. I could listen to it for centuries and still hang off every word you say. And then, sometimes I just want to drop to my knees and suck you so hard you can’t form intelligent sentences anymore, only fragments of sounds as you cum down my throat…”

“Grantaire…”

“And I swallow every drop. I want you inside me, completely.” 

Enjolras’ heart hammered in his chest. The quick pumps of his fist provided insufficient friction, and Grantaire watched, dumbstruck and in awe as Enjolras’ hips started to thrust forward. 

Grantaire couldn’t take it anymore. He surged forward like a tidal wave, his lips crashing against those of his marble statue. Enjolras wasted no time in removing his paint-stained tee shirt and taking advantage of the newly exposed area by running his hands up his back. Grantaire voiced his approval with a low moan and rolled his hips forward. His right hand rose to rub his thumb along Enjolras’ jawline – “God that’s chiseled,” he whispered against his lips – and the other dipped down to knead his ass – “so _firm_.” 

Enjolras opened his mouth to groan, but was interrupted when the brunette nipped his bottom lip before running his tongue over the place his teeth had just occupied. He retracted his tongue to close his mouth around his lower lip, and then opened again to slide past his lips and touch the slick silver tongue he had always longed to feel. It was put to much better use swirling around Grantaire’s than its usual purpose of stately oration, he thought, tilting his face to the right so he could get as close as possible to the god he was currently worshiping. Instead of taking this opportunity to explore Grantaire’s body, solid from years of physical training in boxing, Enjolras ran his hands through his own hair. 

Eyes flicking open for just a moment, he caught sight of Enjolras’ gorgeous lips, wet and open and blood red from kisses. He resisted the temptation to capture them again, opting to lean into his ear and breathe, “You have no idea how much I want this.” 

“Prove it,” the statue all but growled. 

Grantaire dropped to his knees with an air of seemingly practiced ease. By contrast, Enjolras, in all his confused virgin awkwardness, had no idea what was going on, so he did the only logical thing at that point: he copied Grantaire, kneeling on the ground in front of him. 

This threw the artist for a loop. What was he supposed to do now? He sat back on his heels, and Enjolras did the same, staring into his big brown eyes. Surely the virgin was waiting for him to do something. Time to get creative. 

The more experienced man reached out one hand and pushed Enjolras back slowly. They leaned, angling toward the ground, Enjolras’ muscles clenching as he tried to make the motion as smooth as possible - “ _Damn_ those abs are going to be the death of me” - until he had the blond lying on his back, his hair splayed out around his head like a halo. Grantaire traced a tentative hand down his chest, relishing the feeling of soft skin under his fingers. He stopped when he felt the fine hair get thicker between his hipbones. 

He sifted the coarse hair between his fingers – such a delightful contrast to the baby-soft down on his head – and proceeded to grip him at the base. “Fucking _huge_ ,” he whispered into his ear, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the trembling man below. R pulled slightly when his fist ran down his length, then moved it so that he wouldn’t have to support his weight with just one arm. It was up to his mouth to do all the work then, but he chose not to go straight down. It was his obligation to the perfection of Enjolras’ body to savor every inch of it, venerate it, like it was a religion in and of itself. 

He spoke these words aloud while his lips brushed up against his neck and collarbone, between peppering it with kisses and making bruises that would only prove to accentuate his beauty. There was nothing the leader could do other than writhe underneath the larger man and enjoy the adoration being vehemently paid to him. Arching into feather-light kisses, sighing out of ecstasy, Enjolras was driven to near madness with need, but was too proud to voice it. He feared it would break the concentration of the prayers which his devoted subject voiced, breath tickling his skin. This praise, usually denied by the mighty Apollo, he now accepted with breathless delight.

At least, it was breathless, until Grantaire’s skilled mouth finally - _finally_ \- lingered at the sensitive head of his cock. Enjolras fought the overwhelming urge to cry out in desperation with a sharp intake of breath. Propping himself up on his elbows, the sight of him gently licking the slit more than the feeling of it made Enjolras think him pious, a reverent disciple to the only god he would ever believe in. He greedily drank in the sight. 

His tongue danced around the tip, not exactly teasing, but not a product of complete surrender to his leader’s pleasures. He wanted to pay respect to this part of him especially, giving his undivided attention to it for as long as possible. This would have displeased Enjolras had his thoughts not been otherwise preoccupied in the feeling of the end of R’s tongue making occasional contact with the edge of his foreskin. Hands resting lightly on Enjolras’ hips, Grantaire applied light pressure from his fingertips, as if he was afraid to bruise something so near to his beautiful cock.

At last Enjolras felt the wet heat of Grantaire’s mouth close in on the first small stretch of his length. Just as quickly as it came, the heat left him completely. He was about to voice his annoyance when it returned to him, taking his cock deeper. R continued bobbing his head, taking more and more each time until his eyes were closed and his face scrunched up in discomfort as he fought against his gag reflex. 

Being a merciful god, Enjolras lifted up one of his hands and rested it on the side of his new lover’s face. His thumb ran over the stubble in a comforting circle, and all of a sudden something changed inside Grantaire. He peered up into Enjolras’ forgiving blue eyes, and withdrew a bit. Enjolras ran long fingers through his hair in a reassuring gesture. Gently massaging his scalp, he led the subordinate back enough so he no longer gagged. Grantaire hummed his thanks and, closing his eyes, set to work again with his tongue and focusing more on suction than relentless thrusting. Knees bent, toes curled, and breathing heavily, Enjolras shut his eyes and let his head loll back, assured that Grantaire wouldn’t be hurting himself trying to please him anymore. 

Though he would never admit it, he didn’t necessarily mind the discomfort, but the stricken look on Enjolras’ face when he saw how uncomfortable he was made him want to lessen up, if only to appease the blond. So he started making each bob of his head count for more and massaging his hips with his strong hands. 

Suddenly, he felt the man go tense beneath him. “Grantaire, I-” Enjolras choked out in a voice Grantaire couldn’t believe was his, so debauched it was, before the grip on his hair tightened and the back of his throat was met with a salty warmth. Swallowing nervously, he let his cock slide out of his mouth and rose into a kneeling position. 

Enjolras sat up fully and pulled Grantaire into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he mumbled quietly, kissing the space just below his ear. 

“Anything for you,” Grantaire purred in response, his hips bucking forward until he found his release rutting against him.

Because their skin was in direct contact all the way down their bodies, Enjolras was aware of Grantaire’s hot cum coating both of their stomachs. 

While they hated to part, it was necessary to clean themselves off, so Grantaire stood up and scooped up his leader, bridal-style, and carried him off to his bedroom, where he carefully lay him on his bed. He left, then returned less than a minute later with a warm washcloth to wipe away the evidence of their tryst. Enjolras murmured his thanks; he was far too tired to form an actual sentence. So R curled around him and Enjolras fell asleep from the safety of his embrace. 

When the artist awoke the next morning, the smell of coffee swirled all around him. He stepped out of bed with a smile. Entering the kitchen, he saw Enjolras, still naked and clutching a mug of coffee, beaming a sly grin at him. 

“What’s that smile for?” Grantaire asked coyly. 

“I saw your painting,” replied Enjolras, the smile growing. 

“Oh? What did you think?”

“It’s marvelous, Grantaire, but there’s just one thing...” 

“And what is that?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“It only shows me from the neck up.” 

“So?”

“So, I didn’t need to be naked for it.” 

Grantaire was pleased to find that there was only mirth in his tone - no anger or resentment. “You just looked so damn good, I didn’t have it in me to tell you to put your clothes back on.” He grinned sheepishly. 

Enjolras walked up to him to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m glad you didn’t.” 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed it. Again, thanks to my awesome editors!  
> x  
> Lauren


End file.
